Is Angelina Jolie the new Roger Moore of spy movies?

Remember those backwater years of James Bond movies when the caricature known as Roger Moore kept the franchise going?  Nuff sed.

Imagine owning a cockatiel (or rather, it owning you) for 21 years, the bird turning little cardboard boxes into homes complete with chewed-out windows to stare at you.

Congrats to all the runners - the DNFs, winners and finishers - who ran the Rocket City Marathon course today; especially the ones who overcame personal adversity - pain, injury, etc.  Relatively warm for this time of year just before the cold and rain/snow sweep through.

Good to see familiar faces in the Holiday Inn, including Abdul and other hotel employees, Kris and the ham radio operators/comm team/timekeepers, Virginia College students, emergency/police personnel and fellow food volunteers led by Jim.

Thanks to Publix, Brueggers, Dole and Atlanta Bread Company; runners' support/family; the person who said he's going to play Santa Claus early and give some of the leftover food to random homeless people.

Checked the Book of the Future this afternoon - a new forecast is almost ready for broadcast.  Even I, as jaded as I am right now, can't believe what's going to happen next.  Surprised?  No.  Basically amazed.

Oh, and a shoutout to UT.

Portsmouth vs. Kittery?

Or Dover vs. Durham?

How about Strawbery Banke or interoperability testing near Newick's?

Who's bidin' his time until another road mishap?

A BCS championship coach, perhaps?

Devlin, McNally...like original football names of old.

Still, a lot more attendees at Dover or Rockingham Loudon races.

Hmm...wonder why...

Ask Matt Millen

Do you know what goes on in professional football locker rooms?  Matt said don't ask.  Steve Young don't tell.  Military generals wonder if they should investigate the team chemistry that results.  Sean McDonough doesn't want to know - just stick to colour analysis and we'll get thru the post Oregon/Auburn knockout championships with one between ACC teams.

Enjoyed the parade today, the NEACA craft show, BBQ served to us by Andi S at Lawlers and ice cream from Baskin-Robbins.  Marathon next week.  The Music City Bowl's not that far away in place/time, is it?

Full of awe and envy

Awesome

The Championship Club

I ran into the homeless guy who bought the Book of the Future from me.

Turns out he hasn't burned all the old pencil shavings and wanted to trade them for a rainproof tent-in-a-parka-in-a-heated-grocery-cart.

Thus, because I still have the pencil sharpener, I can combine the old with the new to accurately see the future again!

Glory be!  Hallelujah!  The South shall rise again!

Oops, sorry.  Wrong song.  That's what I get for believing Daniel Day-Lewis is the perfect Lincoln.  He's a better dentist portrayer.

Some say Hendrick is ruining the sport of racing by dominating for so long.  I still wonder about his so-called cancer recovery, conveniently letting him off the hook for financial obligations.  Can't have everything, I guess.  I love NASCAR but it continues to be an insider's semi-regional sport.  Support your local track.

Back to the main storyline.

Now that we accept the fact that the public dole is no longer the status quo, will we begin to eliminate other entitlements obligations, doing away with social support networks altogether?

In other words, if you can't make your own mini-empire the hard way, you don't get to suck off the pig of a public teet, no matter how hard your luck or case may be.

It's an interesting experiment we're conducting, forcing people to do away with creature comforts at the lower rungs of the socioeconomic ladder in order to focus on their future through making wise investments instead of buying quasi-luxury goods.

That is, if people want to climb the ladder.

Otherwise, it's a simple task to keep them fat, dumb and happy amassing stuff that depreciates and deteriorates quickly, increasing the wealth of those building and selling the cheap goods to the socially unmotivated masses.

Life is what it is.  I'm not here to change it.

Observe and report.

Meanwhile, ensure that my wife and I are increasing our holdings while satisfying the cheapest of our desires in the moment (i.e., a practical form of delayed gratification).  Also, while on holiday, buying more than one of items we like so we can share them with others in the future.

Like the old saying goes, "Jesus saves.  Moses invests."  It's never too late to have the best of both worlds.

My Wife's Suggestion:

A showdown between the Alabama A&M and Ohio University marching bands.

Now that's an idea worth pursuing, maybe during an exhibition game between the two schools' football teams?

Meanwhile, I'm still thinking, waiting for some computer programs to finish calculating output for analysis and comic consideration.

Three Words

Vick is baaaa-a-a-a-a-a-a-ck!!!!  A Hokie through and through.

Now, if only Virginia will get its extension agents system working for all counties.

Justin, the Nick of time

Charleston, a 3.5-year old boy, sat in the trolley with his father asking why (misplaced modifiers are my favourite form of word play).

Why are we not there yet?

It's the journey, son. Your final destination is a long way away.

Soon you'll see the names you'll recall as the great field leaders of their time - Tauren Poole, Austin Johnson, Justin Hunter, Nick Reveiz, Matt Simms and that new kid Bray.

You won't remember the band selling clay tablets, papyrus rolls, 45 RPM records, 8-track tapes, audiocassettes, CDs, and ring tones of marching music in the stands.

You'll think of blinged out mobile phones as nostalgia.

Will you lead a crowd cheer where the wave starts with people standing up on the first cycle, sitting down after the wave passes through a second time, standing up after the third time, etc.? Your version of my old cheer, "stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight!"?

Did you know Neyland's son was a neighbour of mine who stands in the shadow of his father's statue like the rest of us now?

At your age, falling asleep when the score's 31-14 by halftime is okay.

I stand guard over you while students celebrate homecoming with trophies toted around like...well, like trophies, and young people, older than you, take mobile phone pics of themselves in their firsttime visit to the glorious coliseum of triumphs we call Neyland Stadium.

Will you remember the big plane and the tiny ultralight that flew overhead?

You're one of the boys of fall, a slew of them claiming a wellfought 52-14 victory on the field below us, a few, like Archie Manning, reminiscing about wellearned battle scars.

Today, it's time for racing and prayers, not in that order, of course. Think Momma has a birthday meal surprise on order for me today? Don't worry. We'll keep it a secret that we already know. Maybe by the time you grow up, Ford'll have another NASCAR championship, whoever the sponsor may be.

As smart as you are, you may have a business empire that owns the whole shindig, including UFC, WWE, NFL, NBA, NCAA, ESPN, EA sports, CBS and all the rest. Don't forget your daddy - he'd like good season tickets while you're hobnobbing with the well-to-do.

Front-End Loader or Backhoe?

Woke up at 3:30 this morning after a dream of remembering all the "hazing" antics with which the upperclass plagued the lowerclass during my freshman year at university.

As Just like in primary school, my height and relative maturity let me blend in with the upperclass during the hijinks.

No getting tied to the tether pole or forced to wear a beanie cap.

Some who write excel because of chameleonlike behaviour, putting on the lives of others effortlessly, without judgment, taking all views of their characters in equal measure.

We talk about the costs of "entitlement" but where/what are the beneficiaries of the wealth redistribution? Is a dollar spent another dollar spent, a dollar saved, or a dollar lost/pulled out of the system? Are pensions and profits forms of entitlement?

Ahh...labels. Like clouds that take anthropomorphic shapes in a storm, frightening children and entertaining young people in love.

I am more curious than wise. A friend recommended I read "At Home" by Bill Bryson to increase my knowledge and perhaps wisen me up.

My parents taught me to worry about what the neighbours think and never burn bridges - their advice has turned me into a person who wants the neighbours to think for themselves about the bridges they want to cross with or without me as a comparison.

A family member asked why I was not afraid of a single person taking over the world. Call it the profit motive or an agreement among thieves but there's too much competition out there for one person to rule alone.

She means a single set of dominant cultural attitudes/mores, perhaps - a common theme we record historically, that always favours the brazen/bold (the successful ones, anyway). She worries that her history, her culture, will not survive if her culture is not the dominant one (or one of the prominent ones).

And now you see why I put species first. No culture lasts forever.

We can only hope/plan that the general theme of family-friendly beliefs pervades society at large, knowing many subcultures will branch off, some living, some dying, and some gaining strength while attracting the majority to the next big growth on the meandering cultural vine of life.

If Hilly can hold her own in Aussie comedy circles, can we accept the bottoming out of the worldwide minimum wage trendline, seeing that the poorest of us and the richest of us (in money and/or culture) are intricately connected to the remaining seven billion?

Well, enough of this slapping happiness on the page like apple butter on fresh unleaven bread. Like they say in these parts, it's football time in Tennessee!

Which reminds me, have you ever heard the joke that starts, "A swami, a priest, a pastor, a rabbi and an imam walk into a football stadium..."?

Many Paths

Overheard at a bar: "It's not the coach or the players who are the problem with the Cowboys.  It's the owner who thinks he's some kinda special player and coach."  "That's right.  Get him off the field and out of the coach's box.  His glory days are behind him."  "Besides, he ain't no Frank Broyles!"  "Yeah, give him a gold watch and let him ride off into the sunset like in the old movies."  "Anyone wanna help pitch in and buy the team to save it before it goes under?"  "Maybe Roger Staubach or Emmett Smith got kids that're any good at football?"

Millions of people starving to death everyday and here I and millions of other armchair quarterbacks are wondering what's happening to some of the great NFL teams of bygone days.

Change is good.  Kids buy jerseys of their new heroes, putting the old ones in closets or up for sale to kids-turned-into-grownup memorabilia collectors.

Have you ever made a wish?

Have you ever made a wish come true?

I remind myself I am nobody special.  I just look, see, and observe through these meandering word trails.  Many paths, one destination.  Others have one path and multiple destinations.  Some one and one.  Others...well, unknown.

I am privileged to know people smarter and more dedicated to a single project than I ever will be.

It's not all about money, prestige, the right schools, flawless images.  But it can be.

It's not all about self-sacrifice, scraping by, sleepless nights, devastating setbacks.  But it is, sometimes.

Our socioeconomic system is built on the fact that one person makes a difference.

What about impact?

How many people switch to a tire store because they saw Brenda Conville saying Topline Tires is her kind of place to spend her money?

How many people look at a calendar of pretty pictures of birds and consider the patience and good fortune that the photographer brought to the moments the camera clicked?

I asked these exact questions yesterday while Obama began his visit to India, the Colts were losing, and a bartender served Cornerstone Cellars wine at Elfo's to benefit the Make-A-Wish foundation, coordinated by Liz Larkin, Mid-South Chapter President and CEO.

Elfo's provided hors d'oeuvres.  Dr. David Sloas, a local "personality" known for his unquestionable medical professionalism and brain full of obscure facts, provided a calendar of 12 bird photographs to help raise money for children whose lives are often far from normal.

While David autographed calendars, he described the moments leading up to some of the photographs:

• A perched hawk that gave David 30 minutes to approach in the fading light of day just as the sky turned that golden-pink we know so well before the dusty grays of dusk settle in.
• A curious owl that flew in to hear an MP3 owl call.
• The one and only scarlet tanager that appeared in David's life, he lucky to have his camera to record the plumage in the foliage.

For some shots, David created blinds where he could sit and wait for the right bird to come along to the feeding station he set up for the occasion.

But as David said, it's not about him, it's about the kids.  His calendar is the humble messenger of hope for children and their parents, where Hope is a giant billboard offering happy interludes when a child's lifelong dream can come true.

Prayers, dreams and hope helping wishes become reality.

We bought five calendars to support Make-A-Wish and should buy many more, having one colleague of ours, whose son's life was uncertain (brain cancer the cause), leaning on Make-A-Wish to give her son the trip to Disney World he always wanted.

We think we know that the path we've chosen goes on forever.  It doesn't.  Seven billion lives means seven billion different choices in the moment.  Make a little room in your life to support those whose paths may very likely make abrupt turns.

And remember the old adage that it isn't always about the wins and losses.  Do you know all the charitable activities that occupy the lives of NFL owners and players when they're off the field?  When the game's not being played, give a little room for professionals in any occupation to be people, too.  We all face emotional highs and lows.  Sometimes it shows on the field.

However, help a child laugh and smile and watch the worries of the world fade away.

What would you do if all a child wanted to see was your team win?  Would you put the squabbling aside, telling the owner to get behind you while you lead your team to victory despite nagging injuries, family problems and financial worries that weigh heavily on your mind when you're off the field?  All this while the press is calling you a has-been third-stringer who should be benched?

It's never too late to be a child's hero.  Sometimes, snapping photographs and buying calendars is simply what it takes.

Wishful Thinking Wine And Calendar Party

Do I always see the ship's passengers enjoying the rising tide?

Do I understand why sign ordinances make a local coffee shop's shingle the same size as a burger chain's?

I am a flawed individual - some days I want to sit alone with my flaws and some days I proudly put my flaws on display. The continuous luxury of anonymity, I suppose.

My blood boils during sporting events, the savage beast within barely leashed, straining, looking for weaknesses in the harness and invisible fence of social settings.

One day, I stroll with my wife through the refined displays of a benefit for Randolph School called Under The Christmas Tree. The next day, I'm frustrated that the fans for the visiting football team aren't screaming as loud as they can out to the limits of their lung capacity.

Two young newlyweds sat next to me at the UT-Memphis game last night, one a native New Yorker from near West Point and the other a Mississippi gal working in Olive Branch for U.S. Xpress (Express or eXpress?), a trucking firm.

The former married an Ole Miss fan. Thus, their bedroom is all Yankees and Rebels. Their wedding cake was topped with a Derek Jeter and Col. Reb figurine combo (who knew such a combo exists - talk about specialised markets!).

We sat and chatted while the UM band hustled around the corners of the football field (which reminds me to ask why rugby and futbol teams don't have pepbands), a caged beast paced during its procession, the sun set and planes arched overhead.

I have a special place in my heart for Mississippi women - I'm old-fashioned like that. Doesn't matter to me what they claim for family heritage. There's something about that land o' the South that makes a woman bold, adventurous and focused on improving her future.

And New York women who are as true a Tennessee fan as a woman from the three states of Tennessee will turn me into melted butta.

Yesterday, I was caught between two worlds - the world of silver place settings, Olde World furniture and luxury automobiles, and the world of $12/hr jobs and hopes for an airplane mechanic's degree one day.

I live in both worlds. I've flipped burgers, waded sewers, ridden in limos and eaten megahundred dollar meals.

People are people.

Last night, Tennessee's finest covered the carparks and entranceways of the Liberty Bowl so the governor-elect and his wife could walk onto the field for the coin toss, a ceremony whereby the two teams decide who's the most offensively minded.

Ladies and Gentlemen! In this corner, the down-but-not-out Vengeful Tigers of Memphis! Across the evergreen grassy battlefield, the Rugged Volunteers of Knoxville!

Like I said, I'm no saint. Last night, I needed a good strong drink to prop me up during the genuine ingenious execution of tackling and flanking apropos for the occasion.

Instead, stone-cold sober was I.

By halftime, after kissing cams and little tiger cams and ABC choices and furniture races and the Memphis not the UT band playing Sweet Caroline, I was worn out from the excitement of a 40-7 lead by my up-and-coming team.

Bray found a way. Reveiz and his revengeful, tackling tough boys held the Tigers at bay.

With Houston's having a 45-plus minute wait, we slipped into the Half Shell for immediate seating and me an ice-cold Newcastle brew in time to cool my blood while the Vols held on in a 50-14 victorious romp of Freedom and Liberty.

Thanks to Josh's service, stadium ticket takers, parking attendants, BBQ smoked sausage cook, scoreboard operators, Senola Huell's cookies, Janet's mosquito repellant, Dan's generosity, Fay's pumpkin pie and rail/air/road traffic engineers.

New Name, Old Game

Due to a potential lawsuit by the government of Denmark over portrayal of the Danish as berserkers, the Minnesota professional football team has decided to change its nickname to the Gentle Explorers.

Flash mobs of excited Danes filled the streets of the tiny Scandinavian country after the news was announced.

"We are happy now that Americans see us as the quiet, peaceful people," said Bjørn Bjørk Børsen, owner of Thor's Hammer Emporium, a battleax and horned helmet costume import/export business.  "We are no longer like the violent, bloody ancestors associated with the era of the Vikings."

The Minnesota team owner and head coach were unavailable for comment.  Sources close to the team stated anonymously that the two men had last been seen sleeping off a bender after an allnight argument over why they gave up a third-round draft pick for a publicity stunt.

In related news, sales of Copenhagen snuff containers have skyrocketed, prompting one ad agency to suggest the Minnesota team's nickname should be the Cøpenhageners.  The team's behavioural law specialist rejected the recommendation, saying it sounded too much like "cope and hate 'em or else," a veiled drunken threat.

Speaking of not being able to cope, a talent agent not officially representing Randy Moss says that Mr. Moss is on a homecooked meal boycott until further notice.  Memphis BBQ joint owners are heading to Nashville to change Randy's mind.  Country music star Taylor Swift might consider filming a music video with the "I'm too rich for that s%#t" bad boy of pro football and fine dining.

Wiki Word of the Day

How you interpret is not necessarily how you interpret what you interpret:

Hermeneutics

I'm trying to figure if voting in my local district on Tuesday is worth the effort and how to get a leader on the field to assess and decide in two seconds when last week's running recordbreaker isn't working again.

Any suggestions?

Can I put the rest of this year in fast-forward?

Thanks to all of those I haven't given my thanks.  You know who you are even if you don't know how to interpret what I'm thanking you for.

Tarmac and a shot of Jack

1995. Peyton Manning at the helm. Final score: 41-14. Knoxville News-Sentinel headline the next day: "VOLS CRUSH BAMA".

Fifteen years of student-athletes wandering hallways that perpetually reconstruct themselves.

We watch WWF become WWE. We watch DTD lose its campus privileges. Victorian beauties give way to big block monstrosities full of modern conveniences.

Children grow up. Some die in random street violence. Others in hunting accidents while stalking deer or slaying enemies.

The song remains the same.

The visiting team making last-day game preparations while the faint noise of jets and props gun up and gear down.

A solitary crow on a carpark pole adjusts its feathers and launches confidently into the warm October air.

A Texas' boy's son and a backup launching missiles to find weaknesses in the opponents' defensive wall.

In the crowd, cheerleaders try to fire up the 13th man (never exactly sure if the coach(es) has/ve placed 10 or 12 on the field).

Fifteen years and the score flipflops, 10-41.

No excuses.

Sure, three years and three coaching systems give the upperclassmen sleeping fits.

But that ne'er promised rose garden sprouts up anyway, briery and prickly long afore appears the scenty blooms a winning gentleman gives his lady in a promising proposal.

The eternal seeds of hope hibernate.

Boys grow into players, coaches, cheerleaders, administrators, valets, band directors, baritone horn players and warriors.

We know the cycle's not always in our favour so we keep rolling the big ring along.

In that big picture we don't want to see, we all benefit.

A Star Trek fanatic, who wore Star Trek themed underwear to school, becomes a football fan because of his brother, yelling for the opponent in a stadium full of 102k+ mainly yelling for the hometown team.

Makes you wonder why a futuristic, peaceloving society is always going to battle stations. Maybe - TV/film ratings are not the same as a pure futurist's dreams.

Of course the future does not exist. That is, we play the game of life, to find out who's willing to give up life, liberty, limbs and roses for a cause bigger than one of us.

That's why I say thanks to Tiffini, the valet, room cleaners and gift shop operator at Airport Hilton; Michael at Pizza Hut; the hostess, server, cook and manager at Zachary's Steakhouse; Double J Whitetails of Alabama; Gigi's; the circle drill and Come Sail Away; Rocky Top Buses; Bridgeport Fire&Rescue, "We Care Enough To Wear Pink"; Charlotte, Jasmine and Damien at Old Time Pottery; those who give thanklessly.

I'd Rather Be Wrong Than Dead

Watching the Titans win tonight with only a minor slate of injuries reported, basking in Munster's victory this weekend, and wondering about the upsets in top 25 college football, I pause to consider Jupiter and the Moon.

No special reason.  Just 'cause I can.

See what I'm saying?

I don't have to be right.  I only want to learn from you, my fellow members of what we call our species, what we consider worth considering.

If you say you're practicing the commandments and following the tenets of a religion, I'll believe you and will want to read the primary documents that teach you what you're supposed to be doing when you practice and follow.

I can't read your mind.  I'm a behaviourist at heart - I read your intent through your actions, including the emotions you express that you say you feel.

We're one big family so I react according to family-style training - respect the learned opinions of your elders, support the sick, and teach the young.

In the meantime, I'm composing the story that tells the history of this planet, all our civilisations a tiny dot along the timeline, the mere start of the Anthrocene (or Anthropocene) period.

How do you tell an Earth-sized story without using the communication method, the language, of a newcomer species?

How do you explain religion in terms that universally speaks to all living, feeling beings?

It's twisting my poor ol' brain into a pretzel, that's what all this rewriting of the act of communicating is doing to me.

And I'm supposed to compose five of these epic tales?

Glad I have the assistance of all seven billion of us.

Like this opinion about morals without an omniscient head of religion.  Is fairness universal?  Is it coded in our combination of states of energy?  Why do some animals care for their young?  Why do any creatures reproduce?

Je ne sais pas.  Je ne connais pas.

I will complete at least one of my books about this small part of the solar system, even if it depletes my whole thinking/feeling process to do so, knowing that the act of communicating itself is not universal, let alone the style/format.

Look at the known states of what we call the universe and tell me if knowledge is more important than action.  Now tell me how I'm supposed to express your opinion universally.

See what I'm saying?

Raccoons and Rubber Liners Rue the Roosting Rule

Chalk up another one.  Right there in the classroom we see our future - chalk, dry erase markers, electronic slide shows, nourishment, encouragement, discipline, learning.

I thank the folks at Garden Cove for the organic meal I bought - oats, bran, apples, bananas - and other fresh nonorganic goodies - prickly pear fruit, mangoes, persimmons - I didn't pick up on the last trip.  I'm behind on my thanks to others and I apologise.

Barry Diller taught me there is no such thing as an unimportant person - every one of us is vital, including the mountain folk and the remote fishing villages.  Progress and preservation are one.

Sea monkeys and sugar gliders.

Censorship and freedom.

Skyscrapers and open ranges.

Currency wars and battlefield peace management.

I care about all seven billion of us, even on days when I don't feel like caring about anything except a cold beer and a close football game.

Do you have what it takes to treat us as a whole species, with room for every one of our diverse hobbies?  It's far from easy and less complicated than you think.

Redefine labels with laughter and you'll see what I mean.  Find a useful outlet for our "fight or flight" emotions and we can get along without resorting to genocide.

Best local joke of the day:

Urban Meyer loves God.  God loves Les Miles.  Nick Saban and Steve Spurrier aren't sure which one of them is God.

I finally negotiated the five-book deal with the major publisher who is going to combine television soap operas, social media, Internet blogs/news and ebook readers per my suggestion, putting the reader directly into the story.  Lose weight and I'll finally have the money and health to meet you on the space cruiser going around the dark side of the Moon!